Loving You Differently

Twenty

Aria Adkins

I have a love/hate relationship with October. On one hand, I love the fact that the dry Memphis heat finally seems to let up and allow a slight chill to pass through. I love the changing colors of the leaves, and the idea of the pumpkin patches and haunted houses that I was never able to attend as a kid. On the other hand, I hate the hard financial hit to my bank account every year the month rolls around.

Kicking mom and her addiction to the curb was bittersweet; I didn't want to throw my obviously struggling mother out onto her ass, but I don't have the means to help her, and she didn't seem to want it anyway. Savannah needed a safe environment, this last year as an adolescent critical for her future. We're lucky we've been able to dodge CPS as many times as we have, and I'm not looking to risk that now. It's only been two weeks since her departure and scarily abnormal radio silence, and while I hate the reason for it, my sanity and bank account are sighing in relief.

Two weeks of not having to take extra shifts to make up for the money mom typically snagged from my wallet on a daily basis. Two weeks of amazing tips from Vice. Two weeks of decent fucking sleep for the first time in a year. Two glorious, stress-free weeks with Savannah and Austin; my two favorite people.

Since working at Vice, I've managed to pay all of the bills on time for once, which leaves me with the ability to splurge on my little sister. Sav's birthday sits two weeks after the first of the month, and I'm taking it upon myself to go extra hard this year and make it the best one yet. And a quiet Sunday evening spent in Austin's downtown loft while Savannah finishes her shift at the grocery store is the perfect place to practice my cake decorating skills.

Which... isn't as easy as I first thought it'd be.

The lid of Austin's super fancy trashcan swings open, allowing me to pour out the toxic waste that I just spent ten minutes slinging across Austin's similarly super fancy kitchen, courtesy of his super fancy cake mixer that I didn't know how to work.

"It's a faulty mixer," I hedge defensively over the sound of Austin's laughter.

"It's brand new! And I was gone for five minutes," He howls.

I stomp to the sink and begin washing out the mixing bowl, glaring at the chocolate flavored sludge making its way down the drain. "I did everything the box said!"

He's still chuckling when he rounds the island. I watch as he picks up the box the cake mix came in and wipes away the batter that coats it, bringing the tiny lettering back into view. "You added water?" he asks, reading off of the back.

"Yep."

"Vegetable oil?"

"Yes."

"Eggs?"

I freeze, one hand stretched across the counter with a wet dish towel under it.

My silence causes another round of laughter to pour from his lips. "It's not funny!" I squeak.

"Was this your first time making a cake?" He smirks, playfully snatching the dish towel from my grasp. I can't help but smile sheepishly, his laughter and good mood contagious.

"I thought I could handle it," I defend.

Austin turns to the sink and runs the dish towel under the faucet. "You can," he replies, "If you use eggs this time."